Please Don't Cry, Babe
by OKFan
Summary: Prequel to Smile for Me, Babe. "Arthur's heart swelled, his grip tightening on the small hand nestled in his own. He couldn't deny it. His feelings towards Alfred had always been 'abnormal.'" UK/US Brother!AU, incest, character death, young!Alfred.
1. Guilt

**Title: **Please Don't Cry, Babe  
>Prequel to <span>Smile for Me, Babe<span>.  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> England/Young!America  
><strong>Genre: <strong>Romance/Tragedy  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R-18 as a whole (PG-13 for this chapter)  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Brother!AU, incest, young!Alfred, character death.

This prequel is, for the most part, just a way to instill some more plot into Smile for Me, Babe and to answer some questions that some reviewers/commenters have expressed.

_Note:_ To anyone that has never been unfortunate enough to follow any of my other chapter stories...you should probably know that I am a notoriously slow updater. It's very difficult to write when I'm not feeling particularly inspired (as may be true for many writers), so it could be awhile before I get the next chapter out.

I apologize for the wait, however long it may end up being.

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><p>He could hear the wind rustling the leaves and feel it tousle his hair as he sat on the stiff bench, glancing out over the school's playground.<p>

He watched intently as a young boy climbed up the slide, ignoring the stairs up to the top entirely and making his way up the plastic curve. A large grin spread over his slightly pudgy cheeks, blue eyes twinkling in excitement, and golden locks glistening in the bright sunlight. His eyes roamed over the boy, taking in his eyes, his smile, and the way that his shorts rose up his thighs as he climbed up the park slide.

He groaned at the realization of where his eyes had wondered and swiftly looked away, burying his face in his hands, digging the heel of his palms into the offending organs. He felt dirty, wicked, disgusting. There was absolutely nothing right with the way that he was feeling.

"Arthur!" he could hear his name being called but refused to lift his head, mortified by his sinful thoughts. It wasn't until two small hands rested themselves on his knees did he finally look up to a pair of worried azure irises. "What's wrong, Arthur? Are you sick?"

He felt himself choke a little, guilt washing over him and clenching at his heart, "No, no. I'm just fine, Alfred. It's only a headache," he lightly pat the boy's head, ruffling his hair, an affectionate smile gracing his lips as Alfred giggled and hugged him around his leg. "Come on, lad. Say goodbye to your mates and we'll head home."

Blond bangs bobbed over his forehead as he nodded, waving back at his classmates before grasping Arthur's hand, taking comfort in the feel of the larger fingers wrapping over his own. As the two leisurely walked home, enjoying the pleasant spring weather, Alfred babbled on about his day. How he did in his classes, how he got a gold star, and ran the fastest in gym, how he played with his friends, and how he had missed Arthur.

Arthur's heart swelled, his grip tightening on the small hand nestled in his own. He couldn't deny it. His feelings towards Alfred had always been 'abnormal.'

For a long time, he was sure that there must be something wrong with him. He must be confused, he must be desperate, it'll all be better once he gets a girlfriend, maybe what he really needs is a boyfriend, or maybe he really is just a pedophile. He tried his best to rationalize his feelings in different ways throughout the years, but they all had a fatal flaw. He didn't want a woman, he didn't want a man, and he didn't want any children, he wanted Alfred. Only Alfred. Since the day the boy was born, he'd never had any interest in anyone else. He loved Alfred. But it wasn't the sort of lover that a man should have for a boy, that a big brother should have for his little brother. It wasn't the sort of love that a 22 year old should have for an 11 year old.

It was sick, demented…sinful.

His strange attachment for his little brother only worsened after their parent's passed away three years ago. When they were around, they acted as a sort of sheath or a shield. He and his desires were kept in check by their presence. If they became too overwhelming, he could escape to his room or out with his friends (and on occasion, with his 'special friends'). Escape became significantly more difficult when things changed and he began raising Alfred in his parent's place, in fact, it was damn near impossible! Who knew kids needed so much supervision?

Arthur felt the muscle in his hand twitch as Alfred's grip tightened, he glanced down too see the boy gazing up at the sky, a worried glaze coating his features.

"Hey, Arthur?" he watched as his little brother's gaze shifted from the sky to Arthur's face.

"Yes, Alfred?" he tried to give Alfred what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

"Am I weird?" Arthur's eyebrows rose at the question, '_weird_'? Alfred was by far one of the most normal boys that he'd ever known. Energetic, sport loving, friendly…a little ADD, but that seemed normal enough for a child his age. However, as ridiculous as the question sounded to Arthur's ears, the crease on Alfred's own brows and the down turn of his lips clearly said that this was a very serious matter.

"Of course not, why in the world would you think that?" he watched as blue eyes shifted once more, now gazing at the sidewalk they were walking on.

"Because the guys at school say I am since I've never had a girlfriend, I told them I don't want one, but they said that's even weirder!"

Arthur blanched; this wasn't what he had been expecting at all. Honestly, he wasn't sure what he had been expecting…but it definitely wasn't this. "Alfred, that's normal. You're only eleven. A lot of boys your age have little interest in the opposite sex. I sure didn't have any interest." He wisely chose not to mention that he never did develop that particular interest, "give it a few more years, you'll probably want a girlfriend then." Arthur stared straight ahead as they walked, occasionally glancing down at Alfred, looking at his down turned face and forehead creased in thought.

"But," Alfred started, turning his gaze back on Arthur as they approached the door to their two-bedroom apartment, "they say it's weird that I've never kissed before and that I don't know what I'm missing out on…" he watched as Arthur dug around in his pockets for the key to their home, "…Arthur, what does kissing feel like?"

Arthur nearly dropped the keys, he fumbled with them as he tried to fit the right one in the lock and open the door, "A-Alfred, you're a little young for that," he mumbled, a flush starting to color his cheeks.

As they entered the doorway and Arthur closed the door behind him, Alfred turned on him again, "will you show me?"

Arthur choked and took a deep breath, trying to compose himself before kneeling down and looking straight at Alfred. "L-listen, Al. That isn't the sort of thing that you should be doing with me. That's the sort of thing that you do with someone that you like, with a girl."

"But I've seen some of the kids at school kiss their parents. Kissing family isn't weird, right?"

Arthur could feel his chest clench at the look that his little brother was giving him. He sighed, forcing back sinful thoughts, and took Alfred's face in his hands, trying to ignore the smooth feel of his skin, "Al, we can't. I know you're curious, but it really is better to just wait until you're older, until you're with the girl that you like."

Alfred tried not to focus too much on his brother's emerald eyes, averting his own to the side, "what if I never find a girl I like?"

Feeling quite awkward and clearing his throat, Arthur responded, "W-well, you know that I'll love you no matter what. I mean, b-because you're my little brother! But, you have to understand that the rest of the world won't think the same way. Now, "he gave Alfred a shaky smile, "you're filthy from playing in the park before. So go hop in the bath. I'll have dinner ready for you once you're done," he stood up, ruffling the boy's blond locks as he did so.

He watched as his little brother regarded him with a look of sad confusion and reluctantly nodded before sauntering out of the room.

Arthur turned and slowly made his way to the kitchen, pausing and leaning his forehead against the wall. He groaned, trying desperately not to think of Alfred's questions, how his hair had felt like silk or how his bangs had smoothly fell back over his eyes when he had pulled his hand away. He tried not to think about his soft skin or pink lips.

The more he thought, the worse he felt. He was in a constant battle against himself. A clash of the titans raged within him, a battle against his desires and his morals…his morals? No, society's morals.

He knew from experience just how cruel people could be. He knew how it felt to be ridiculed and hurt just for being different. How it felt to have classmates and friends turn on him (though, the few friends that did stay by his side were actually the ones that he wouldn't have minded losing, damn frog). He lost a lot of people and had been beat up just for being homosexual, what would happen to him if people knew about his filthy sinful desires? What would happen to Alfred? Even if he left, even if he went half way around the world, there's still a chance that the people there would know. That they had heard some news report, or had a relative that gossiped to them, about the poor little boy that was defiled by his own bloody brother. Alfred never did anything wrong, but he would still be secretly looked down on, pitied, and ostracized as a result of Arthur's abnormal feelings.

He didn't want, would never want, Alfred to have to suffer the same things that he had. Being treated like an outcast even by his 'friends'. Alfred didn't deserve that, no one deserved that.

Arthur swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump forming in his throat as he pushed away from the wall. He took a breath and shook his head, as though trying to clear it, and walked toward the cabinet to start preparing what was sure to be another 'nutritious' charcoal-esque meal for himself and his little brother.


	2. Love

**Title: **Please Don't Cry, Babe: Love  
>Prequel to <span>Smile for Me, Babe<span>.  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> England/Young!America  
><strong>Genre: <strong>Romance/Tragedy  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R-18 as a whole (PG-13 for this chapter)  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Brother!AU, incest, young!Alfred, character death, mention of religion.

This prequel is, for the most part, just a way to instill some more plot into Smile for Me, Babe and to answer some questions that some reviewers/commenters have expressed.

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><p>Alfred gingerly lowered himself down into the hot water, apathetically watching as the dirt melted off of his body and stained the water in a heavily diluted brown. He sat in the water, not bothering to scrub his body as he let his mind wonder from the events of his day, to the words of his classmates, and to what his brother had told him.<p>

He didn't understand. There was so much that he didn't understand. He didn't understand the appeal of girls or why all of the boys at school seemed to care about them so much, or why Arthur always seemed distracted and would avoid looking at him. He didn't understand why some things were right or wrong. When he was younger, he hadn't understood the things that their mother and father were trying to teach him. He knew now that their parents had been very religious ('hard core protestants,' as Arthur had described them) and that they had been trying to teach him and Arthur right from wrong based off of their own beliefs. However, they never explained to either of them the reason why those things were wrong.

He could remember clearly four years ago…though, he doubted that Arthur had realized that he knew. He remembered how their parents had fought and yelled, blaming one another and cursing Arthur after they had found him and one of his friends doing 'sinful' things.

After that, for the next year until their deaths, Alfred wasn't allowed to have as much contact with Arthur; for fear that he might be influenced. Arthur came home less and less, but when he did, Alfred's blue eyes would focus on his blue bruises.

At the time, their parents and neighbors went on about how Arthur was getting into fights and doing bad things, it wasn't something that he had wanted to believe, but he didn't know of any other explanations. He knew now that those accusations were false and that it had probably hurt Arthur knowing that their parents thought of him that way. He could still recall the cold look that filled those emerald eyes whenever he looked at their parents, whenever they directed that accusing stare at him.

When Arthur was gone and they thought that Alfred was asleep, their mother and father would talk about him…how he wasn't 'normal,' how he'd even been seen by someone at school, and how their neighbors were having a grand ol' time gossiping and looking down on their family because of Arthur.

He remembered how their mother would look up at the ceiling and ask 'why?' mumbling about how their three older brothers had married such nice young women, so why was Arthur turning out like this?

He didn't understand why it was wrong. If you love someone then why should it matter who they are? When he asked his mother this she had given him a scandalized look, "it's a sin." This response wasn't as believable to him as the answer that he had gotten from Arthur, "because the rest of the world says it's wrong." It was easier for him to understand. The world says it's wrong…that's why their parents cared so much about what the neighbors thought, that's why Arthur had been covered in bruises when he came home from school…

Alfred sighed, the water starting to get cold as he considered the past few years.

It wasn't right. Sure, what Arthur was doing was supposedly wrong, but was being mean to him for it right? Was it right for their parents to suddenly stop loving him just because he liked boys instead of girls? They were pretty smitten with him before they knew about his true feelings. They had loved how he'd get the best grades in his class and how he'd played soccer like a pro (mom even liked how Arthur knew how to sew, "he can mend his own clothes!"). They'd always tell Alfred to be more like his big brother and study hard. None of those things changed after they found out about Arthur's 'affairs,' the only thing that changed was the way they treated him and that they never again told Alfred to be more like him.

He didn't understand what Arthur was thinking. Was Arthur avoiding him and averting his gaze because he thought that Alfred was judging him like their parents had? Maybe he was worried about Alfred becoming like him and being scorned by their neighbors or his classmates? Though, Alfred didn't care about any of that. Their neighbors could say and think whatever they liked. He didn't need any friends either. Of course, having friends was nice, but not if it meant losing Arthur.

At that thought, he couldn't help but pause and wonder if it was strange. Arthur had said it wasn't weird that he didn't like girls and that he would still love him even if he never came to like them, even if it turned out that he really liked boys…but, what would he say if Alfred told him that he had wanted to kiss him out of more than just curiosity? He didn't quite know what his feelings meant, but Arthur had made it clear that family members doing things like that was something that he didn't think was right. Still, he wanted to be by Arthur, to cuddle up next to him, to talk, play, hold hands, kiss…if it were possible, Alfred wanted to do everything with Arthur, go everywhere with Arthur, he wanted to give him all of his time every day. He felt that as long as he had Arthur, then he didn't need anyone else.

Standing up from the now cold water and using the nearby fluffy blue towel to dry off his pruning body and lightly muss his dripping hair. As he finished drying and redressing, he glanced to his brother's green towel, resting innocently on the towel rack… Alfred's eye brows scrunched together as he pondered, he was a little shocked as an inexplicable urge to press his face against it rocked through him.

When he was younger, he often slept in Arthur's bed. Nightmares from the night of the crash and a phantom throb in his long since healed shoulder as his unwanted companions, he would push his way into Arthur's bedroom, bawling. Every time, Arthur would get this nervous look on his face and would try to shoo him back to his own room, telling him that brother's aren't supposed to share a bed; and every time he would give in and scooch over when Alfred's lips quivered, a shaken 'please, Arthur' stuttering over his tongue.

He could remember snuggling against Arthur's chest, how it felt, how it smelled. He vividly remembered panicking when he woke up to an empty bed, soon realizing that Arthur was in the bathroom or cooking breakfast, and then shifting over to Arthur's side of the bed, pressing the side of his face against his pillow and inhaling the scent left there. He would instantly relax as the smell filled his nose and filtered into his lungs.

He imagined it, allowing himself to fall into the memory, his senses overflowing with it.

Recently, Arthur hasn't been letting him sleep with him. Alfred has long since stopped having nightmares and had been sleeping with Arthur out of habit, but the older man had finally put his foot down and was no longer allowing it. "You're a big boy now. You need to stay in your own room!" Alfred could never deny how much he missed sharing a bed and the closeness that he had had with Arthur, the comfort he had had from just being next to him, from just his scent.

Alfred shook his head. His hands came up and rubbed at his heating cheeks. There was simply no way that this sort of feeling was 'normal,' but he didn't know how to stop or change it, and he wasn't convinced that he really wanted to anyway.

He checked his reflection, making sure that the blush that had risen was receding. Once satisfied that it was gone (and hopefully not coming back) he tossed his towel, not paying attention to where it landed, and headed to the door.

Turning the handle, he took one last glance to the green towel, his breath shuddering before he tore his gaze away and forced the door open.

As he walked down the short hallway, he looked blankly at the floor, watching his bare feet move with each step that he took. He tried desperately to sort his thoughts, and to obliterate any and all 'inappropriate' thoughts he had regarding Arthur. He soon came to the kitchen and readied the well practiced smile that he knew Arthur loved. A smooth grin spread from ear to ear as his big brother turned to greet him.

The strong stench of burned fish quickly replaced the imagined smell of Arthur's pillow.


	3. Desperation

**Title:**Please Don't Cry, Babe: Desperation  
>Prequel to <span>Smile <span>for Me, Babe.  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> England/Young!America  
><strong>Genre:<strong>Romance/Tragedy  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R-18  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Brother!AU, incest, young!Alfred, character death, violent imagery, suggestive themes, masturbation.

This prequel is, for the most part, just a way to instill some more plot into Smile for Me, Babe and to answer some questions that some reviewers/commenters have expressed.

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><p>Arthur placed the blackened fish onto plates, trying to arrange various vegetables and fruit around the pieces to make the plates look more presentable. He may not be able to cook very well, but presentation was something that he could pride himself on.<p>

As he finished arranging the plates to his satisfaction, he heard the floor give a loud creak behind him. Turning around, he was greeted with cerulean eyes crinkled at the edges and a large grin spread over damp porcelain skin. As always, Alfred looked beautiful. Arthur could feel his throat going dry and he forced a small smile to his lips despite himself.

"Did you enjoy your bath, Alfred? You were in there for quite awhile," he set one of the plates onto the old oak table and went to grab the silverware as he listened for an answer from the boy.

Alfred nodded, little droplets of water flicking from his bangs, "Yeah, it was really warm when I got in, I almost fell asleep!"

The older man chuckled, "well, it's good that you didn't. You could have drowned," grabbing a clean dish towel, he stalked over to Alfred, placing the towel over his head and ruffling it. "Your hair is still soaked, lad. How many times have I told you to dry yourself off properly?" he could hear the light rattle of laughter from his little brother, coupled with the low hungry rumbles from the boy's stomach. He tried to ignore the vibration that reached the palms of his hands as the small body shook with mirth. His eyes lay on the boy's neck, watching the drips roll lazily across soft skin, down the length of his thin neck and toward his small chest, clothed only in a thin blue cotton t-shirt. Arthur swallowed guiltily around the lump forming in his throat and averted his gaze upward, pretending that he didn't want to lick those drops, and focusing only on the golden locks beneath the dish towel.

He rubbed at the hair a little more before pulling his hands away, "there, all dry. Now let's eat, shall we?" he waited for Alfred to sit himself down at one end of the table before placing one of the perfectly arranged plates and the appropriate silverware in front of him. Swiftly seating himself at the other end where his own meal awaited him.

As the meal progressed, Arthur listened calmly to Alfred's chatter, noting that while he was certainly not silent (Alfred? Silent? He was sure he would have a pre-mature heart attack) he was making less conversation than usual, and some of what he was talking about was a bit repetitive of things he had mentioned previously (he once again told him the story about how the little boy from Hong Kong snuck in fireworks to class today…he'd also insulted the charred fish three times…but that wasn't so unusual. He was still eating it, so Arthur didn't think much on it). He also noticed how the boy kept his head down or looked more around the small dining room. He would normally be looking at Arthur when speaking to him. However, he did his best to put the behavior out of his mind, chalking it up to Alfred still feeling awkward after their earlier conversation.

"_Maybe __he__'__s __still__ feeling__ insecure__ or__ thinks__ that__ there__'__s__ something__ wrong __with __him?__ The__ lad__ never__ could__ look __me__ in __the__ eye __when__ he__ felt __guilty__…__is __it__ because __of__ the __kissing__ discussion?__"_ dark lashes closed over emerald irises as he felt his cheeks unwillingly heating up at the thought, his own guilt stirring in his gut.

How he had wanted to accept that suggestion, he could only imagine how those lips would under his own. He had imagined it, dreamt it, more times that he was willing to admit to; but, he couldn't take advantage of his little brother that way. It was wrong, disgusting. Alfred may not understand now, but he'd learn once he grew up. He'd know that what his big brother, a man he trusted and loved, did was improper, that it was sick and sinful. He was sure that Alfred would be hurt by the realization…and had no doubt that he'd come to hate him.

Those were two things that Arthur would never able to handle. Hurting Alfred and being hated by Alfred. If either of those happened, what would he do? He could imagine a few things, but none of them were pleasant and none of them ended with his heart still beating. Now, it wasn't that he was suicidal, he wasn't anymore, hadn't been for awhile. However, if he lost Alfred, if the boy came to hate him and his adoring eyes turned cold…he anticipated that he would be. The child was his everything. His laughter was his drink, his hair his fields, his eyes his sky. What was he without Alfred? Nothing…Alfred was and always would be his heart. He knew that Alfred felt the same way about him (to an extent), he was raising the boy, of course a large portion of his life revolved around him…but, that was only temporary. One day, Alfred would grow up. He'd hang out with friends, go to college, get a job, fall in love, and maybe even have his own children. Then Arthur wouldn't be his main focus anymore, he'd just be a brother.

Arthur swallowed hard, hoping that the lump of depression swelling in his chest would be washed down with the partially chewed fish and vegetables. He sighed as he felt the food sliding down his esophagus. He had to stop thinking; it wasn't doing him any good.

He finished off the rest of his plate and took a swig from his teacup, trying to calm his nerves. He continued to delicately sip his tea, his forest orbs glancing down the table to his counterpart and snapping at him to finish eating the greens on his plate. He pointedly ignored the pout thrown his way, trying to act as if that the sight didn't wrench at his heart.

Once he was satisfied with the amount that Alfred had eaten, the two cleaned the dishes from the table, moving them into the sink and washing them (Arthur washing and Alfred drying). The younger brother continued to make ideal conversation as he wiped the china. When the dishes were cleaned and put away, Arthur sent the boy to bed and made his own way into the bathroom.

As Arthur walked into the small bathroom, he promptly stumbled over the damp blue towel that Alfred had carelessly left on the white tiled floor. Cursing, he caught himself on the vanity sink and took a slow breath, calming his spiked pulse. Grumbling, he picked up the fluffy cloth and draped it over the sink before beginning to unbutton his dress shirt.

As he tossed the white button up into the hamper (where the towel should have been, he'd have to lecture Alfred on putting his things away properly), his gaze once more drifted to the sink, lingering on the damp cloth. His mind wandered, imagining how it had rubbed against pale wet skin, running over that slender nape and touching the lad's most intimate places. Blue fluff rubbed against freckled cheeks, the darkness of the fabric contrasting the light blue of young irises, the fringe of the fluff skimming past thin lips. He felt a moan rumble under his ribs, his eyes closing as images flashed in his mind. The cloth ran over a slim chest, fluff lightly tickling pink nubs, making them stand pert. Arthur's breath hitched and his fingers curled. The towel now roughly pressed in between two small thighs.

Two eyes snapped open as hips jerked and a groan slipped past Arthur's tongue. He was instantly aware of what he'd been doing; one handing gripping the cloth to his face and the other had somehow managed to sneak its way into his unbuttoned trousers, kneading at his half hard cock.

As he came to this realization, he quickly dropped the towel back on to the sink and snatched his hand away from his pelvis. He released a heavy sigh, carding his fingers through his hair. He couldn't remember picking up the towel; he couldn't recall unbuttoning his trousers. It terrified him, that he could do such a thing while imagining his brother without even realizing it.

He tried to push it out of his mind, ignore it, just like everything else. After fully removing his trousers and his pants, he turned on the shower and leisurely stepped under the running water.

He had imagined a lot of things, but they were, for the most part, relatively innocent. He couldn't imagine anything provocative, the overwhelming guilt from sullying his dear Alfred that resulted was so crippling that he just wasn't able to bring himself to think of it outside of his midnight dreams which he had no control over anyway. However, as time went by he found his imagination getting progressively worse.

When he first noticed himself harboring thoughts of Alfred that were most definitely not 'normal,' he had been 17. He doted on Alfred. He spent a good portion of his money on the boy; toys, treats, clothes…if he saw something that reminded him of his little brother, he often got it, relishing in the large smile and bright eyes shining at him. He cherished the energetic 'thank you's and hugs that Alfred would shower him with.

At first, he'd attributed the fluttering in his stomach and the odd clench in his chest to simply being enthralled with the attention (something that he certainly hadn't been used to receiving so much of). This was around the time that he'd decided to finally come out, his friends were dwindling and harassment from classmates increased, gossiping from the neighbors and his parent's vehement disapproval of his lifestyle were entirely unhelpful. The only upside to all of this was that his older brothers had already moved out, he'd hate having to listen to their exclamations of 'always knew you were a pillow biter' in person (they were a lot easier to tolerate over the phone)…but, no matter how black the world seemed, he could always count on his darling little brother's smile to lift him up.

By the time he was 18, he could say with confidence that there was something wrong with him and it wasn't that he was gay. Wanting to make Alfred smile, wanting Alfred to be happy, that wasn't so unusual. Wanting those things for your little brother is 'normal' (contrary to what his older brothers seemed to believe), but…wanting to spend every minute of every day with him? Wanting to hold him? Wanting to brush his hair from his face, hold his cheeks between his hands and kiss him? That was not 'normal.'

The way he felt about Alfred was different. It wasn't how a person is supposed to feel for their sibling. It wasn't the way anyone is supposed to feel for an eleven year old! Though, it wasn't the same way he'd felt for the people that he'd dated before either. He loved Alfred. He felt like he'd honestly do anything for him. Anything that is, aside from leaving him. He'd break without him. Alfred was the only person that really seemed to love him (even if it was only the infatuation a younger sibling has for an older one). He was the only reason that he hadn't just ended it all.

But now, the innocent fantasies he'd used to have of just spending his days with him, maybe cuddling on the couch and leaving a few innocent kisses on his cheeks and nose were morphing into something sinister. He couldn't just go out for a casual fuck to get rid of his 'frustrations' the way that he used to when their parents were alive. He had to take care of Alfred. He couldn't even have a proper wank because he'd always start thinking of Alfred in the middle and feel horrible about it (if he was having sex with someone else, then at least he could focus on that person and not be left feeling guilty for using his little brother's image). So, instead, he'd wake up in the morning with soiled boxers and vague memories of a tight sinful heat wrapped around his arousal, sapphire eyes scrunched shut and a soft back arching against Arthur's flower pattered comforter. High pitched moans spilling from thin lips, moans that sounded suspiciously like Arthur's name.

He can't control the things that he dreams about. He believed he had more control over his daily thoughts, but now he was finding his nightly dreams creeping more and more into the front of his mind throughout all times of the day. He felt terrible, filthy. If he couldn't control his thoughts and was now to the point where he was touching himself without even realizing it, then what else might he do without realizing? Is it possible that he may open his eyes to find not his hand down the front of his boxers, but himself sheathed inside his little brother? To Alfred crying and begging him to stop? He wouldn't put it past himself in his current state of mind. For years he could feel some part of his mentality being strained, control and sanity slowly being stretched to a thin strand.

As he let the shower water run over his body, he contemplated everything; the past, his feelings, his state of mind, and of course, Alfred.

He didn't want to hurt Alfred, not Alfred, anyone but Alfred. But, if things stayed as they were, he would. He knew he would.

He wanted to protect Alfred. If it were from anyone else, he could; but, how was he supposed to protect the boy he loved and was raising from himself? He'd considered suicide when he was younger, but whenever he looked at or thought of Alfred, he could never go through with it. No matter how miserable he felt, there was always that luminous smile to bring him back. And now, he had to protect that smile.

If he died, would that protect Alfred? No. The lad had already lost his parents, watching them die in a crushed car, and Arthur knew that Alfred adored him. If he killed himself, Alfred would be distraught. He might even blame himself (he already blamed himself for their parents' accident), with so much pain in his past, so many deaths, would he still be able to smile? Who would look after him? He could go to live with one of their older brothers, but they had all moved back across the pond, spread around various places in the United Kingdom. How would Alfred cope with such a large move into a home with a brother that he barely knew and probably didn't even remember clearly? If he was gone, who would protect Alfred?

Arthur's heart quickened. His hands shook as he buttoned his flannel pajamas. His breath came out ragged as his mind raced, panic. He could feel that strained part inside of his mind, that thin strand of clarity, breaking.

He was a danger to Alfred. Alfred wouldn't be able to survive without him. He wanted to protect him; he wanted that smile to shine forever. But how? How could he make it so that Alfred would never be sad, would never be hurt? How could he protect that smile from the world, from himself?

His shaky legs slowly strode him through the hall, through the child's bedroom door. Rain slapped against the windowpane, tree creaking outside, a clichéd horror story scene. He didn't register any of it, not the rain, not the walls with superhero posters, nor the floor littered with action figures and comic books; his eyes focused on the lump safely resting under superman sheets.

Logically, he knew he couldn't always be there for Alfred, he knew that it's impossible for anyone to always be kept safe. It's impossible for someone to never stop smiling. However, as sweat beaded on his skin, breath caught in his throat, and his fingers curled around a slender pale neck, logic was the furthest thing from his mind. Panic.

Alfred was his angel, his savior, his little brother, his love.

The pressure increased, crystal spheres crept open, their owner losing his ability to breathe. Small hands clawed at clenched fingers, jaws opened in a silent scream, odd gurgles escaping past a forcefully closed throat. His ears barely registered the panicked words stumbling from his attackers tongue, words of love and promises of a better future. A blue gaze dotted as it focused on watery green, a green that he'd always loved, a green that should never hold tears, don't cry big brother. His own watered, as his focus diminished, spotty green slowly being replaced with darkness.

He didn't notice the nails in his skin. The wetness on his cheeks wasn't felt. The jumbled, hoarse words seeping past his teeth weren't heard. He was lost in his own muddled thoughts, static. He had to protect him. He didn't want to be hated by him. He wanted his smile to last forever, his innocence to last forever.

Trembling hands pulled away from freshly bruised skin, blurry eyes drooping as they took in the widened blue, now clouded and dulled, a small mouth opened. His lashes quivered against his wet cheeks, he couldn't remember pressing the pads of his fingers to thin lids, pulling them down, he couldn't recall running his thumbs across whitening lips, changing the scream to a grin…he didn't remember anything at all.

Don't cry, don't cry. It's better this way.

* * *

><p>And that's it for this series!<p>

If you haven't read "Smile for me, Babe" yet, then feel free to go check it out on my profile page.

Be sure to leave a review if you liked what you saw! Reviews are a writer's fuel.


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